My dad used to describe himself as a jack of all trades, master of none, and I could rightly say it about me. I have been exposed to a little bit of this and that. I have surface-level knowledge on a variety of things and hold opinions on a range of issues I have varying degrees of knowledge on. But, despite the tone I may sometimes convey here and in person, I know a lot about very little. When I left my full-time job, it occurred to me it had become more than that. It was a career. I had cultivated expertise—people sought my advice on things because I was the resident “expert.” This flattered me a little, I suppose, but I hadn’t guessed how much I’d miss it. Now I am an expert at exactly nothing. Still, there are a handful of issues near to my heart, on the tip of my tongue. I think many of us could probably narrow our passions down to identify The One Thing: The thing you do so well that, when you see it done poorly, it makes your blood boil. The thing you focus on at the expense of others. The thing you feel confident enough about to judge others on. If I’m honest, my One Thing is probably food. Over the course of the last three or four years, I have made a series of changes—tiny steps—toward a real-food diet for our family. Some people probably think I receive royalties every time someone downloads the documentary, “Food, Inc.” I try hard not to let the quest for real food interfere with really living—there are absolutely exceptions and compromises. But I have read and watched and researched and learned things I can’t unknow, and so I devote considerable time and a larger chunk of our weekly budget than I am comfortable with seeking, buying and cooking real food from scratch. This commitment frequently runs counter to convenience and modern life, which annoys me. It occurs to me that sometimes we are the weird family. But I’ve become okay with it, because I truly believe it’s the better way to be. Sounds virtuous, right? If I left it at that, it would be. But I don’t. On a weekly basis I find myself caring for other people’s children, feeding them snacks and lunches packed from home. And I have been appalled-- loudly, and to anyone who would listen-- about what some people are feeding their precious babies. I may express frustration about loved ones who just can’t or won’t or don’t feel compelled to make changes I know would radically improve their lives. I judge strangers and friends, aloud and internally, organic green smoothie in hand, from my comfortable perch of being right and good.

And it’s wrong. I know fellow mothers whose One Thing might be extended breastfeeding, back sleeping, staying home with the kids, attachment parenting, eradicating circumcision, car seat safety, methods of discipline, learning styles, schooling (or unschooling), natural home birth, and a host of other issues. And, if we let ourselves go there, I could probably get into it with just about every one of my friends. I fought every day and through many nights to nurse my second child for one year. My kids never slept on their backs or in my bed, I worked full-time for the first four years I was a mother; I wore them in a carrier, but would not consider myself an attachment parenting devotee. I’m on the fence about circumcision; as long as kids are in car seats I can’t manage to get passionate about the type or dither about its fastening. We do not spank our children, and if you weathered a meltdown at our house, you might click your tongue about how we dealt with it. We are reluctantly sending our oldest to public kindergarten next year, and while I aspire toward a natural birth if blessed with another opportunity, I can never imagine doing it at home. And you know what? All of that is okay. And it’s okay for you to disagree with me. And it’s okay for you to lovingly feed your child whatever it is you’re feeding him, and it’s NOT okay for me to judge your character because of it. A quick glance at my Facebook newsfeed tells me this phenomenon is not limited to motherhood or lifestyle choices. Maybe your One Thing is the Second Amendment, maybe it’s abortion, maybe it’s human trafficking. Maybe it’s theology or social justice or personal finances. Maybe it’s federal spending or welfare. You know what? With all due respect, your one thing is just that—yours. It’s probably very worthy, and there is likely a reason it gets more of your attention than the other issues you may also be passionate about. But that doesn’t mean it falls in the same priority order in others’ lives, and that doesn’t mean they are wrong, and it doesn’t mean you’re better or smarter for choosing that One Thing. I’d like to think the reason I judge others about food is because it’s just that important. But I don’t think that’s it. I think I judge them because maybe that’s the one thing I feel like I’m doing well. We all harbor insecurities—since I’ve become a mother mine have multiplied. There are so many areas I could be giving more attention, so many opportunities to improve. So if there’s one area I can feel good about, I’m going to embrace it, even if it means putting others down to make myself feel better. But instead of doing that, what if I recognized the One Thing in others and, agree or disagree, listened and tried to learn from it? Maybe if more of us tried to do that, there would be fewer angry Facebook rants, fewer verbal standoffs. Maybe we’d realize most of us are just doing the best we can, and that there is less space between us than we think.

The morning of our cooking class, we approached the silver-haired concierge I had developed a slight crush on. Our ride was late. “Prego,” he said. Not a question or a welcome, but more of an announcement. I thought he didn’t like us because I had openly stared at him upon our arrival. Daniel thought it was because we were American. Either way that morning he took our travel voucher and called after our ride, in fast, terse Italian. I liked the sound of our last name in its native tongue and wondered if it would fly at home off my American lips.

With found time, we sat in the lobby and ordered a coffee, surprised when it came out as espresso in demitasses with a plate of sugar cookies. This is “caffe” in Italy. They call our coffee Americano. Simona stood before us and introduced herself as our guide. She led us out front to her Volkswagen subcompact. It was just us.

“It’ll be about an hour, so get comfortable,” she said as Daniel folded himself into the front seat. I silently wondered if I would look back on this moment with regret. In general, it’s probably not terrific operational security to get into the car of a stranger in a foreign country. While I was thinking this, Daniel was making small talk. He learned Simona is a temporarily out-of-work film producer who is moonlighting as a cooking instructor. She’s friends with the chef, Fabio. When Daniel mentioned coffee, she said, “I do not like Italian coffee—it’s too strong. I prefer Starbucks.” She’s part of a Facebook group trying to bring the chain to Rome. Simona wound us out of downtown and into the countryside. We made our way to Mazzano Romano, a medieval village. When I stepped out of the car, I spun around in slow motion. We were about 1,000 feet up in the lush green hills, overlooking a forest and river. I got out my camera and struggled with what to shoot. It was all beautiful. We bought fresh zucchini, cherry tomatoes, eggplant, and a potato from the vegetable stand in town, where we tasted enormous green peas from the pod. We walked through winding cobblestone alleys to Il Drago, the at-once elegant and rustic home where we would be cooking.

The kitchen had a stone countertop and sink and actual tree trunks exposed and supporting the ceiling. Simona decided “anyone can make chicken or veal. Let’s make pasta.” We made pici from water and flour, ravioli from egg and flour, and gnocchi from a baked potato and flour. And now, how to cook like an Italian. Not every Italian, just this one we had the pleasure of meeting. Click for more photos and to read tips Simona taught us.

I'm an in-betweener. I am not a role model; this is not a how-to site. While I favor cooking nightly from scratch, I can't say I do it exclusively. While I admire those who coupon to the point of ridiculous savings, I don't do it. I don't stockpile six weeks at a time, don't buy things I don't really like just because I have a coupon. And, admittedly, I pay for that choice. I try not to, but if I need something that isn't on sale, I will buy it. I don't feed my family all organic, I sometimes succumb to the temptation of french fries, sometimes share them with my children. I enjoy the occasional diet soda. I don't fit with some of the (excellent) bloggers I've found recently; the Christian alternative crowd. They bake their own bread (or sprout their own grain), churn their own butter, make yogurt at home, ferment all sorts of things, and spend hardly anything on their groceries. They homeschool their kids, keep their homes impeccably (with homemade cleaners, naturally), and make their own clothing. In short, it seems from this side of things, there's not a lot they can't do. It probably sounds like I don't admire them. Actually I do, quite a bit. But they intimidate me. I am just not there.

That said, I am hardly a drive-through queen. My family frequently teases me for being overly particular about what my children eat, and my siblings complain I only stock "old people" cereal and no good snacks. They groan when I am in charge of shopping for family vacations.

Over the past few years, I have taken steps to green our life and make our diet healthier. The moms I mentioned above would probably scoff at their smallness, but they're big to us. We recycle, of course, and don't use paper plates or disposable cups. While I don't make my own cleaning products yet, I do use biodegradable products. I don't know if I'll ever cross over to being shampoo free (using baking soda and apple cider vinegar to wash and condition my hair). I'm just not sure I can go there. We only eat cage free eggs, and I'm working on figuring out how to afford organic, grass-fed chicken and beef. I am contemplating buying the better part of a cow.

Daniel has accused me of making changes without consulting him. "So we're not using creamer anymore?" he asked last year. I told him it was completely artificial and loaded with hidden trans fat (the manufacturer is not required to report trans fat totaling less than 1g per serving, but who uses one teaspoon of coffee creamer?). I switched us to fat-free half and half then, upon learning it contained corn syrup, we're on the real (and much better) stuff now. One day, while looking for Truvia in the kitchen, he held up a Stevia extract bottle. With a puzzled look, he said, "So this is what we're using now?"

They are baby steps. Tiny. Lately, though, I've made two big changes that have me excited. We joined our first CSA (community supported agriculture) with a local farm, and we now get our milk, cream and cheese delivered from a local creamery. When the truck pulled up last week, I started clapping. Daniel rolled his eyes. But I love it! I love supporting the local families associated with the farm, love the glass bottles and plastic crates, love not worrying about hormones or antibiotics in my milk. I can take the kids to the farm to milk the cows that provide their milk! And the kids seem to like the milk more than the organic stuff I was buying from the grocery store.

This movement back to the farm, back to associating familiar faces with our food, is so old it's new again. Maybe I'll never be a home management maven. But when the truck with cow spots stops outside to deliver my glass bottles and collect my used ones, just for a second, I feel like one.

My brother will tell you I can't leave well enough alone. Why make scalloped potatoes for Easter when you can make low-fat, scalloped potatoes with mushrooms? And why use Cooking Light's recipe as written, when you can doctor it up a bit? I'll tell you why: Because you risk bringing very brown and disgusting "scalloped potatoes" that everyone at the table thinks are straight mushrooms and only tastes as a courtesy before eating the boxed potatoes au gratin. I've noticed a lot of my attempts at good food made healthy feature caveats and a pained expression. Not every risk pays off.

But this one did! I have been searching for months for a whole wheat and delicious banana muffin recipe. My husband, Daniel, will tell you I have had many failures on my quest. But finally, a success! I found a good recipe on healthy-family-eating.com, and made just a few tweaks.

About Me

Christina | Virginia BeachPsuedo Yankee, city-loving former working mom of four finds herself home with the kids and transplanted to the somewhat Southern suburbs. Finding her feet while still attempting to harness the power of the passion of her youth for useful good.